


threads

by CrystalLifestream (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Caligo Ulldor - Freeform, Drama, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Time, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Noctis Lucis Caelum - Freeform, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Lunafreya Nox Fleuret - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/CrystalLifestream
Summary: "Really, Ravus,” says Lunafreya, and he makes the mistake of opening his eyes again to find her with lingerie in each hand. “How did you become High Commander with such a debilitating fear of women's underclothes? An assassin would have only to wear a different kind of uniform to incapacitate you."In which Lunafreya pays Ravus a visit in Altissia and ironically saves his reputation by fabricating evidence that she is his anonymous lover. It's only to explain the security footage of a cloaked figure entering the High Commander's room late at night, but that doesn't make him any less flustered at the prospects of telling such a lie… or less disappointed that itisa lie. (Wait, who said that?)Now a two-shot thanks to conscience sedatives. Some spoilers; neither an established AU nor canon-compliant. First chapter is rated M for reasons so good the fic as a whole is rated E. As usual, I apologize for everything.





	1. ravel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dustofwarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/gifts).



> I honestly have no idea why I felt compelled to write this, since it's just a reiteration of points I've already made taken to their logical extreme, buuuuut here we are. Basically, if you read "nights in white satin" and wanted me to take things a step or three further for some reason, then this is the fic for you. It deals with the same themes within the same timeframe, except this time, it's set in hypothetical canon instead of Ravus's subconscious.
> 
> Dedicated to my enabler, dustofwarfare. See, this isn't just my fault anymore.

**ravel:** verb; _confuse or complicate (a question or situation)._

A knock on the door at this hour is never good news. Especially tonight.

Caught in the middle of brushing his teeth, Ravus almost swallows the foam before he remembers to rinse out his mouth. If the Empire finds out he's had any contact with Lunafreya, there may be an interrogation in his future. Even if they only suspect him of treason, they might try to reassign or detain him. But at least he'll be  _clean_  when they inevitably order his execution, Ravus supposes.

Still, best to find out who exactly he's dealing with before he jumps to any conclusions.

Tugging the towel from around his bare shoulders and tossing it onto the counter, Ravus strides back into his bedroom and makes his way cautiously to the door. The figure he glimpses through the peephole is shorter than him, cloaked and hooded in rain-splashed white. Keeping its head bowed to conceal its identity, it turns his head subtly from side to side as though looking around, hoping no one will see it.

Ravus frowns, more perplexed than wary. If this person were from the Empire, there could be no reason to conceal their identity or behave so nervously, so this must be someone otherwise affiliated. But he has no acquaintances in Altissia, or allies in Lucis. Ravus supposes it  _could_  be an enemy, but what kind of an assassin knocks politely at the door? And besides, even less than half dressed, Ravus is far from defenseless with his magitek arm enhancing his strength.

After one more moment's hesitation, he opens the door. "State your identity and your business," he commands, staring down the intruder.

"It's me, Ravus," says Lunafreya's voice, soft and urgent.

Ravus freezes. What is his sister doing  _here_ , in the middle of the imperial camp? But there is no time for idle shock. Ushering her inside hastily, he closes the door behind them as soon as she passes through it—a distinct scent of roses wafting after her—and turns around. As Lunafreya casts off her damp cape, Ravus realizes that she is wearing a little black dress he has never seen before.

And a good thing, too, for he never would have let her buy it. (Not that she'd have listened, of course, but he could have at least  _tried_  to point out the impropriety.) Its top is sleeveless and almost like a corset, its skirt ruffled, and a matching leather belt is slung low about her hips. Her hair, a slightly dirtier shade of blonde from the rain, hangs straight down her back. Furthermore, her eyelashes are fuller and darker than usual, and her lips are a brighter, glossier shade of pink.

If Ravus had to guess, he'd say Lunafreya was planning for a night out on the town, although of course such a thing is  _beyond_  inadvisable. As she bends to unlace knee-high black leather boots—perfectly fitted to her calves—he crosses his arms sternly. "What, in the name of the Six, are you wearing?"

"A disguise," says Lunafreya matter-of-factly, setting aside one boot and proceeding to another. Beneath them are plain black stockings, reaching almost to her knees as well. "This is my 'ordinary Altissian girl' costume, and it seems it is more effective than I hoped, thank the gods. Even you barely recognized me beneath that cloak." She paused, looking him over almost appraisingly. "And what, in the name of the Six, are you  _not_  wearing?"

Under her cool gaze, Ravus remembers with a jolt that he is wearing only trousers, and feels himself turning red. "I just finished bathing," he says, gesturing to the lack of armor on his magitek prosthetic as proof. "And this is how I sleep. But at least I'm in the privacy of my own room instead of wandering the streets of Altissia." Even with her finer points concealed, Lunafreya is still ethereally beautiful, and capes don't cover everything. It's a wonder no unscrupulous tourists solicited her.

Lunafreya understands Ravus's implications, judging by her brief glance skyward, but does not address them. "I was hardly  _wandering_ ," she insists, almost haughtily. "I followed Pryna directly from my lodgings to yours."

"You should have sent her to fetch me instead."

"Would you have followed?" asks Lunafreya, raising her eyebrows. "And risked  _being_  followed?"

Ravus hesitates, but cannot tell her no. "I'd have done whatever I could."

Lunafreya shakes her head. "Then you'd have put yourself at risk as well. You know even better than I that the Empire has always been suspicious of your loyalties—all the more so now, circumstances being what they are. This is simpler." She looks him full in the face. "I have taken the decision out of your hands, and you can use that to your advantage. If they confront you after I leave, say I came to you for help in vain."

Rubbing his forehead, Ravus chooses to drop the subject. He has never been able to get the better of Lunafreya in any of their few arguments, anyway. "Why  _are_  you here, L—?" Catching himself, he stops short. He doubts that the Empire is keeping such a close eye on him that someone is listening in, but saying her name aloud feels ill-advised on principle.

"Call me Stella," says Lunafreya quietly. She must have thought of it some time before, for her to respond so readily. Much less escapes her than most people believe. She is never as defenseless or unprepared as she may appear.

"Stella," repeats Ravus, the name rolling off his tongue. Unfamiliar though the name may be, it seems to fit her somehow. "I paid you a visit yesterday morning, and that was dangerous enough. What can have changed since then?"

"Plenty, it seems," says Lunafreya. "I thank you for all your comfort, but something more than my own burden troubles me now." She hesitates, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. "I… I had another vision."

Ravus purses his lips. The blood of the Oracle makes their dreams uncommonly vivid, and sometimes even prophetic, but he has never been able to remember his—even less so since his injury. Occasionally, some specific series of events will occur, and he realizes as the scene unfolds that he has seen it all before, somewhere in his subconscious. But it is only over trivial matters, nothing like Lunafreya's keener premonitions.

It was that very forgetfulness that enticed her to come to Ravus for comfort in their childhood, rather than go to their mother. She had a habit of trying to clarify the visions instead of offering her daughter the reassurance she sought. But Ravus gave her the simple warmth and companionship she needed in the lonely darkness of the night, and left his door unlocked for years after Lunafreya stopped coming. (Just in case.)

After the first few times, she didn't even pause to wake him, to explain, to ask permission to stay. He already knew what was wrong, and she understood that he would never— _could_  never say no. She just crawled into bed beside him, so surreptitiously that sometimes he never knew she was there. Until he awakened in the morning to find her curled up under the covers, her face peaceful and her breathing calm.

And from within shone her little life, like a tiny flame he must protect. It still does, though now it burns in her eyes like blue fire and heats Ravus to his core. Whatever brought her to his room must be more than an ordinary fantasy. "What vision?"

"I haven't quite made sense of it myself," says Lunafreya, after a hesitation. "It may not be the same, but it feels… very similar to the one I used to have as a girl, before the attack on Tenebrae. And clearer than ever."

"Tell me."

Lunafreya closes her eyes. "I was lost in wind and water. I felt my blood spill and my heart stop. I saw fire and darkness, burning sylleblossoms, the last sunset before the long night. And…" She hesitates, opening her eyes again. "I saw  _you_ , corrupted into a shadow of your former self. I heard your agonized cry—nigh unrecognizable, the howl of a daemon—and awoke."

Her voice shakes, and Ravus frowns. Such a premonition is undeniably troubling, but… "Is such a future certain?"

"I don't know," says Lunafreya, pacing deliberately forward. Any ordinary mortal might have appeared defeated, but behind the tears, her eyes blaze with the fierce strength of her conviction. "But what  _is_ certain is that you are in grave danger for as long as you remain in Altissia." She looks up at him pleadingly. "I know I haven't the right to ask, but I implore you to flee the Empire. You are not safe here."

Ravus shakes his head. "My safety is nothing to yours. You know I cannot turn my back on you now. If I must leave, I will take you with me, and if you must remain behind, then so will I." He takes Lunafreya gently by the shoulders, gazing into her eyes. "You should rest."

"There is so little time left to me, Ravus," says Lunafreya softly, a single tear slipping down her cheek, and brushes his hands away. "I felt it in my body yesterday, and now I know it in my soul. And I cannot waste that time sleeping."

Ravus opens his mouth to tell her not to say such things, or perhaps to ask what she intends to do with her time instead; he isn't sure which. But he is not given the chance to make that decision, as he becomes conscious of heavy footsteps approaching… followed immediately by a sharp knock at the door.

"Hide," hisses Ravus, and Lunafreya nods once, obediently scrambling under his bed with remarkable agility. Taking a moment to gather his composure, Ravus inhales and exhales slowly, then crosses his room and opens his door again.

Caligo Ulldor, of all people, looking somewhat startled to see Ravus—though he hasn't any idea why he  _should_  be, given that he specifically knocked. "Commander," greets Ravus shortly, leaning against the doorframe to obscure the view into his room just in case. "What do you want?"

"High Commander," says Caligo dubiously, and clears his throat. "You're alive."

"As you can see," says Ravus impatiently. "You expected to find me dead?"

"The security cameras caught a figure entering your room some time ago," says Caligo. "And they did not see them leaving again."

"And?" asks Ravus, keeping his expression purposely blank. He is high-ranking enough that does not owe Caligo an explanation, and even if he decides to conduct some sort of official investigation, he'll need to bring one of Ravus's few superiors to personally oversee it. That will buy Lunafreya at least a little time to get back to relative safety.

"I feared the worst," says Caligo, feigning concern, and Ravus struggles not to roll his eyes. He took his time getting here, and brought no backup in case they encountered any resistance. Clearly, he hoped to become High Commander in Ravus's stead. "I see now that I was wrong. But in light of the fact that your intruder was an  _acquaintance_  and not an assassin, I'd like to offer you a word of friendly advice. If I may."

"By all means," says Ravus, narrowing his eyes. Perhaps Caligo's brown-nosing act works on more oblivious individuals, but Ravus is perfectly aware that he has always wished him nothing but ill. He really doesn't have to go out of his way to be this obsequious.

"I'm sure I don't have to remind you that tomorrow's mission is top-secret," says Caligo, trying to sneak a furtive glance past Ravus. "I don't mean to say  _I_  suspect you, but if you're caught passing information to your sister, things won't end well for you. So, unless you have a good reason for keeping such mysterious company at this hour… you might receive a visit from the chancellor next."

"Are you threatening me, Commander?" asks Ravus, crossing his arms. However, his usual intimidation tactics are undermined by the sound of a faint rustle, followed by a much more audible click and scrape of something landing and sliding on the hardwood floor behind him.

Ravus sends a half-formed prayer to Ramuh that his more sensitive left ear is exaggerating the sound, since blocking the view does little to muffle any noise, but Caligo's heightened wariness tells him that it was clearly audible. "What was that?"

Ravus curses to himself. "I didn't hear anything."

Caligo narrows his eyes. "If you're keeping any secrets,  _High_ _Commander_ —"

"How dare you take that tone with me," snaps Ravus, straightening up imperiously, but only as Caligo's eyes slide to a point behind him does he realize that his shift in position has exposed a part of his room.

Still, that shouldn't be anything to worry about. Short as Caligo may be, even he would be hard pressed to notice a slender girl hiding beneath a bed and presumably backed against the opposite wall. But as the silence drags on, Ravus realizes that something has definitely captured Caligo's undivided attention, and glances over his shoulder anxiously to see what has distracted him.

He finds his answer lying on the floor in the form of—a brassiere. Black. Lacy. Almost translucent. Sparkly in places, shining almost gold; are those beads, or sequins? There is no time to check. And, much closer to his bed, the corner of what must be matching… oh.

Shit.

Ravus's blood runs cold and then hot, but there is no time to waste. Lunafreya has sacrificed her dignity to provide him with a ready excuse, and he cannot let that be for naught. He clears his throat. "I-if you must know, I have a lover," he says, reluctantly, and does not have to feign his blush.

Caligo looks up at him incredulously. " _You_?"

"Yes, me," says Ravus, more forcefully to mask his discomfort. "Last I checked, there are no rules against imperial officers maintaining certain… personal… relationships, provided they remain separate from one's duties. I happen to have chosen to indulge in one such affair." He lets out a short sigh, which he hopes sounds exasperated, as an excuse to inhale again. "And  _you_ happen to be interrupting."

"Who is she?" demands Caligo, but at least has the decency to look slightly sheepish. His suspicion seems to be overshadowed by dawning understanding. "I don't recall ever having heard…"

"Of course you haven't," snaps Ravus, more and more flustered and irritated with each passing second. "Our meetings have been clandestine; I've made sure of that until now. But she came to  _me_  tonight, and she never learned to be so careful." He leans against the doorframe again, more pointedly this time. Caligo knows full well that Ravus's private life, as well as that of his alleged amour, is none of his business. "Now, if that's all?"

Caligo coughs awkwardly. "I… suppose I'll leave you to it, then," he says, bowing with reluctance visible even in this dim light, and departs with more than one backwards glance. He should know better than to come back tonight, thinks Ravus, with what few thoughts still move through his frozen mind. With any luck, whatever extra sentinels he assigns will be robotic, if only to avoid the human emotion called disgust. Robots don't recognize Lunafreya's voice or oblique allusions, and only eavesdrop if they hear certain buzzwords.

After Ravus shuts the door, almost slamming it, he leans against it for several shaky seconds. Though he makes a concentrated effort to catch his breath, force down his blush, and get his bearings, he fails miserably at each endeavor. Even with his feet planted on the floor, albeit less firmly than he'd like, it feels rather like a rug has been pulled out from under him. Given the solemnity of Lunafreya's tone and the cause of her visit, he never imagined that anything like  _this_  could be lying so close beneath the surface.

Her real name appears on Ravus's tongue in place of her pseudonym, but he swallows it and almost chokes. "Did you just—what did—why—" he sputters, still dumbfounded, but Lunafreya offers no response. Instead, she emerges from beneath his bed, and Ravus shuts his eyes, turning his face away for good measure. She may  _technically_  be decent, but technicalities have never been enough for him.

"Really, Ravus," says Lunafreya, and he makes the mistake of opening his eyes again to find her with lingerie in each hand. "How did you become High Commander with such a debilitating fear of women's underclothes? An assassin would have only to wear a different kind of uniform to incapacitate you."

Despite his best efforts, Ravus flushes again. "I am not  _frightened_ ," he says stiffly, tossing Lunafreya as much of a glare as he can manage under the circumstances. "I am simply unaccustomed to seeing this side of you. And need I remind you that you have forced me to lie about who and what you are?"

Lunafreya has the grace to look sorry, and glances away. "Yes, well, I apologize for pushing you into such a position," she says, somewhat awkwardly. "It was the only way I could think of to avoid further investigation. Thankfully, it appears to have worked."

"Just… put those back on," orders Ravus, hugging his arms to his chest uncomfortably. Even as he speaks, Lunafreya makes her way to his bathroom to obey, but only after the door clicks shut does he continue. "I can understand hiding in plain sight. But  _those_  shouldn't be in plain sight." In any situation except this one, at least. "Why are—were—are you wearing them?"

"Would you prefer I go without?" asks Lunafreya's exasperated voice, and Ravus feels himself turn scarlet. "Perhaps it was only imperial propaganda, but I was under the impression that wearing undergarments is considered normal. I doubt that you, for instance, are an exception."

"You know what I  _mean_ , Stella!" exclaims Ravus, wringing his hands, at a loss for what else to do with himself. He has never liked Lunafreya's habit of debating semantics by way of changing the subject, and it is easier to voice his annoyance when the name he says is not that of his sister.

Lunafreya emerges from the bathroom again—leaving her job only half done, judging by the somewhat looser fit of her bodice. Brushing her hair out of her face, she stares fixedly at the nearest wall in a way that suggests unspeakable embarrassment or guilt. Yet, to her credit, she does offer a response as requested: "I… had been going to pay someone a visit, after I spoke with you."

She may as well have said Noctis's name. Ravus immediately regrets asking for clarification. "You  _what_?"

"You heard me," says Lunafreya, her color heightening. "This is the truth of my heart, as much as my duty. And I have you to thank for encouraging me to make it known."

Ravus clenches his teeth in momentary frustration. "That is  _not_  what I meant, and you know it," he growls. If his words have motivated her to seek out and share Noctis's bed, he may actually be sick. "You intended to seduce him?"

"Not quite," says Lunafreya. "I intended merely to see whether he wants the same things I want. What I have wanted for years, yet have scarcely dared to dream." She lets out a short breath, finally turning her head to face Ravus. "He  _is_  my fiancé, Ravus. And even if he were to turn down my advances, I could at least have been  _some_  help to him."

"By delivering that trinket?"

Lunafreya inclines her head in an affirmative. "But it may be too late for that now. I chose to come here first, and here I must remain for some time. I have no doubt that security will have tightened. The Empire likely cares more about ensuring your loyalty than your privacy."

Nodding distractedly, Ravus makes an effort to calm his inexplicably racing heart, with limited success. "Why  _did_  you come here first? Is informing me of a vision truly more important to you than your duty?" Can he possibly be more important to Lunafreya than Noctis…?

"The Ring will reach its rightful owner eventually," says Lunafreya. "This much I have also seen—a glint on his finger, creation unraveling at his command. But you…" She hesitates, eyes flicking over to the king's sword standing unused in its rack. "You, too, have an artifact you must return. You must flee from this place, and survive."

Ravus shakes his head vehemently. "It is my calling to protect you."

"Such loyalty is truly as much a curse as it is a blessing," says Lunafreya, glowering. Apart from yesterday, this is the most visibly frustrated Ravus has ever seen her. "You must accept that such a calling is not yours alone, and never has been."

"But the one who shares it is still a boy," says Ravus impatiently. "He can barely defend himself, let alone look after you." Of all the mysteries in this world, the most puzzling must be Lunafreya's faith in Noctis.

"Do you doubt his legitimacy, even now?"

" _Especially_  now." If Lunafreya falls, the light fades with her.

"My dearest…" She catches herself before saying 'brother', and chooses to leave the fragment be. The unintentional epithet serves to both soothe and agitate Ravus's heart; she does not mean that. "It pains me to see you worry so. If you cannot trust in his destiny, then place your faith in mine."

"Your dearest," mutters Ravus. He has never been as dear to Lunafreya as her precious Noctis, and never as dear to her as she has always been to Ravus. "If I am so dear to you, why do you insist on driving me mad with talk of—?"

"Must we quarrel on the eve of a trial?" interrupts Lunafreya, and Ravus realizes suddenly how exhausted she looks. She may have grown more resolute in spirit since yesterday morning, but her body has not regained much of its strength. "You know I have no intention of inducing madness."

Ravus lets out a long breath, daring to approach, and gently takes Lunafreya's arm to escort her to his bed. "Come now, Stella," he says, making an effort to lighten his tone for her sake. She was right, of course, as always; they did need a change in topic. "You needn't lie to me. You intended to drive someone mad this very night."

"I—I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," says Lunafreya, sinking onto the mattress, but her blush indicates otherwise.

Ravus chances a smile. He had forgotten how much he used to enjoy teasing her. "Then again, I doubt he'd have had the chance to go mad," he says, feigning reflection. "More likely, you'd have put him in an early grave." Certainly there could be no better way to die, thinks Ravus, before he can stop himself. (Though, never having experienced any such thing, he does not know what he means by that.)

"Am I so dangerous?"

"I speak of your…  _attire_ , not you," says Ravus, unable to meet Lunafreya's eyes, but quickly discovers that studying her dress is no better, and must look away altogether. It is not a warm night, and she has always been more sensitive to temperature than he. Tight as her outfit may be, it is not enough to conceal the effects of the chill. "I might say the same of any woman."

"Oh?" asks Lunafreya, smiling faintly in his peripheral vision. "Anyone in particular?"

She thinks his embarrassment is because he is imagining someone else, realizes Ravus, and flushes hotter still at the implications that he might have wasted his time pursuing anyone romantically, or—gods forbid—sexually. Such a misinterpretation irks him in a way he cannot begin to explain. How could Lunafreya think that anyone could possibly be more important than her, or even  _as_  important, in his estimation?

But clarification would undoubtedly be worse by far, and even more badly misunderstood. "What do you want from me,  _Stella_?" snaps Ravus instead. "You know very well that I am speculating; I have never so much as glanced at any other woman." Or man. Or person in general, in such a way. "Satisfied?"

Lunafreya nods, but hesitates, eyeing Ravus curiously. "Any  _other_  woman?"

Ravus bites his tongue. Tonight, she is as perceptive as he is clumsy; he will have to pay more careful attention to his phrasing. "Any woman at all," he amends in a mutter, and his words are swallowed up by silence. Thankfully, there is no hint of disgust in Lunafreya's countenance—only curiosity, and dawning understanding that Ravus cannot comprehend.

Before long, Lunafreya arrives at some sort of conclusion, and speaks. "You're still envious of my betrothed," she remarks, and it is not a question. "Even after a failure that cost you a part of yourself, and could well have taken your life, you still seek to take his place. Don't you?"

"As a guardian, yes," says Ravus, meeting Lunafreya's challenging tone with a scowl. "I want nothing more than your freedom and happiness, and no price is too steep if it means you will have it."

"I  _am_ free," says Lunafreya, the merest hint of frustration edging otherwise even words. "I have told you before that it is my choice to devote myself to my duty, and fulfilling it shall be all the happiness I need. You must find a way to make peace with that."

"Yet you have given Noc—that  _boy_  more than your duty," says Ravus. "It has been twelve years since last you met, but still you have given him your heart. And," he adds in a mistrustful mutter, "you had been going to give him even more than that tonight."

"Which was also my decision!" exclaims Lunafreya, turning her face away in something like anguish. "Speak no more of it; nothing can come of it now. And in any case," she adds hastily, her tone taking a turn for the defensive, "it feels as though it has been almost as long since last I met my brother." Lunafreya looks Ravus full in the face, an almost desperate glimmer in her eyes. "I miss him, Ravus."

"Oh?" asks Ravus, seating himself a respectful distance away from her. "What was he like?" Perhaps it will be easier for her to say what she means in the third person. At the very least, it might be  _safer_ , given that he is as yet unsure how closely they are being monitored.

"Kind," says Lunafreya. "And gentle. Princely in every way. Almost perfect, I daresay, though perhaps a little too generous to me." She pauses, studying Ravus's countenance with an expression he cannot interpret. What reaction does she seek? "When I was old enough to know I was to be queen someday, but still too young to understand what marriage meant, I thought  _you_  would be my king."

Ravus can only blink at her. "I… never knew." And in any case, marrying a queen regnant would make him prince consort, not king proper—but he smothers the thought instantly. Such a trivial correction is hardly the most important thing to take away from such a confession.

"Of course you didn't," says Lunafreya. "I took it for granted for as long as I believed it. Even after I discovered I was wrong, and my future took another shape in my mind, the standards you set were always so high that… I thought no other man could so much as meet them."

Lunafreya twists her engagement ring restlessly, and Ravus knows she means to tell him that Noctis has met or even surpassed those standards. "I—I see," says Ravus, forcing himself to speak as his heart beats hollow. "You mean to tell me that he possesses some of my traits."

"Traits you have since discarded, and that he retains," says Lunafreya. "It pains me to see how like some others in the Empire you have become." As she speaks, Ravus feels a twinge of strange and unexpected disappointment, edged with fury the like of which he has never felt toward his sister. So this flattering reminiscence is nothing more than an attempt to convince him that Noctis is a respectable choice, a worthy  _replacement_ , while Ravus has become inferior.

And here he was, thinking she might actually love him the same way he loves her.

His breath catches and ice floods his veins, his thoughts beginning to spiral off in directions better left unexplored. As silence expands between them, Ravus runs his fingers through his hair to distract himself, but they catch in damp knots. An excuse flashes through his mind, forgotten until now: Lunafreya interrupted his post-shower ritual, and he has yet to finish it.

Ravus gets to his feet almost before he processes the thought. "I need a moment," he says, in response to his sister's anxious confusion, and strides over to his bathroom in search of a comb. And a modicum of stability.

Once he closes the door quietly behind him, as if to lock out his erratic emotions, Ravus takes a deep breath. Lunafreya's accusation is unjust, as are the compliments she paid Noctis at his expense, but he has never been able to defend himself against her. It is only natural that someone without flaws would naturally expose others' by contrast.

Still, the bitter taste in his mouth persists.  _Lapdog_ , her sad voice murmurs in Ravus's mind from months ago. He recalls all at once his hesitation, his deliberation over telling her everything. But he closed the door instead, repeating to himself in his usual unbroken mantra that her opinion of him does not matter, only that she still lives—

Something in the mirror catches Ravus's eye, and his train of thought grinds to a shuddering halt as he turns slowly to observe it: Lunafreya's brassiere, hanging on the doorknob. The cups are black lace, their lower halves embroidered and beaded into more solid patterns, dark gold-tinted roses and curlicues that catch the artificial light.

Such a garment undoubtedly covers just enough to drive most men and some women to delirious delight, but the Noctis that Ravus remembers is still a boy, incapable of appreciating such a gift. Why had Lunafreya seen fit to offer it anyway? How could she seek to throw herself away on the son of a weak and indecisive coward, and insult Ravus by association?

Yet being compared to the man she loves, even unfavorably—knowing he subconsciously set the standards by which she measures Noctis—still offers a taste of something like fulfillment. (Or at least, how Ravus always imagined it must feel; he cannot remember the last time he felt truly satisfied.) After all, intimacy by proxy and projection is still intimacy. But even tonight, closer than they have come in years, is not enough.

Wrenching his eyes away from Lunafreya's lingerie at last, Ravus feels an unpleasant chill as he wonders how long he spent staring. Plucking up his comb in numb and unsteady fingers, he drags it through his hair in a hurry, trying desperately to center himself and gather his scattered thoughts. He has always known that his loyalty is to his sister alone, but this evening feels inexplicably different, and answerless questions swirl through his fevered mind.

Is he falling further under Lunafreya's influence than ever, or struggling to free himself from her gentle and unknowing grip? And why? Is it the lateness of the hour combined with the restless energy of nervous anticipation, grasping blindly for an outlet? Or perhaps it is the fact that her appearance hardly fits with his image of a princess, an Oracle, or his sister… to say nothing of her  _behavior_.

And something beyond protective resentment stirs his blood—so far beyond it is unreachable. Unfathomable. Unmentionable.

After a pause, Ravus bends to splash cold water on his face. Whatever is wrong with him, it must cease before it causes some serious misconceptions. All he wants, he tells himself, is for Lunafreya to recognize him for who he is and what he has done for her.  _Then_  let her judge him as she will.

By the time he turns off the light and emerges from the bathroom again, Lunafreya has fallen back on his bed, and he stops short. Odd as it may seem, he never quite noticed the length of her legs before. Perhaps because they are so rarely bare to this extent, and even less often all he can see of her. Though, admittedly, those black stockings provide an appealing contrast to her pale skin.

Thankfully, Lunafreya sits up again before long, drawing Ravus's attention back to her face. "Forgive me," she says, her eyes glimmering in worry. "I spoke clumsily. I meant only that… you have changed, and he has not."

"If I have changed, I have changed only for you," retorts Ravus, sitting next to Lunafreya once more.

"You chose to serve under Mother's killers."

Ravus shifts closer to Lunafreya, his voice lowering to a growl. "I joined the Empire and entrusted my life to them because I needed the power to protect you. Otherwise, both our fates would have been in their hands— _Ulldor's_  hands—and not mine." (There is also Ardyn and his scheming to consider, of course, but his rank is high enough that he need not concern himself with either of them personally.)

"It makes no difference," says Lunafreya, closing her eyes in resignation and in grief. "You, too, are under their control."

"I am nothing of the kind," hisses Ravus, so vehemently that Lunafreya's eyes fly wide again in shock. "I spent years gaining Niflheim's trust for the sole purpose of exploiting it, and it has paid off handsomely. I earned sole responsibility for looking after the Oracle years ago." He forces her to meet his eyes. "Do you know how often I have lied to keep you safe?"

"N-no," says Lunafreya, more and more alarmed at the intensity of his feeling.

"Each time I received reports that you'd stepped out of line in some way, my superiors demanded that I  _discipline_  you," says Ravus. "I told them it would be done, and sent you simple requests instead. Had you ignored my admonitions, the consequences might have been dire, but you never gave the Empire reason to suspect me." He lowers his voice, realizing he has been speaking more loudly than is advisable. "Which in turn allowed me to grant you more privileges than I should have, such as all those unsupervised trips to your garden, and pretend I didn't know."

Lunafreya closes her eyes. "I knew your reputation must be based at least partly on my doings, so I always strove not to cause you any trouble. But I never knew how much you staked on my conduct. Or how much of the Empire's lenience in my adolescent years was because of you."

"I trusted you to take my warnings seriously," says Ravus. "I thought I didn't need to hurt you to make you understand. And I was right." Whether Lunafreya actually stopped misbehaving or just learned to be more careful makes no difference to him.

"And  _I_  had no idea," says Lunafreya, her tone hushed, as if she speaks half to herself. "For years, you've risked everything for me, and I haven't noticed."

The corner of Ravus's mouth twists. "Did you think fortune favored you, Sis—Stella? Or that the Six blessed you? I lost my faith in divine intervention the day our mother was killed, so I have intervened on the gods' behalf. And given the opportunity, I would do it all again."

"Ravus," murmurs Lunafreya, and the tears shining in her eyes are happier, this time.

"I have lost everything and everyone I love, except for you," says Ravus, brushing a lock of hair out of Lunafreya's face on an impulse. His skin tingles at the contact, and he suppresses a shiver. "I'll be  _damned_  if I lose you too."

For a long moment, the two of them gaze at one another, no words passing between them. There are none that need be said: Lunafreya understands, now, her tears retreating. And Ravus thinks he understands her a little better, too. Until now, she genuinely believed that he betrayed her in some way, that the Empire changed him beyond recognition. (Perhaps  _that_  is what her vision of him as a daemon symbolized.)

Eventually, Lunafreya clears her throat, turning pink, and bows her head. "May I stay the night?" she asks, sounding more like the little girl she used to be than the Oracle who speaks with divine authority. "With you?"

Ravus blinks. "Of course."

Lunafreya visibly relaxes, and Ravus feels some tension leave his own body in response. "It's your fault, you know," she says, her tone teasingly affectionate, and he smiles tentatively at her lifted spirits. "I didn't realize how tired I truly am until you led me to such a comfortable bed. Now I don't think I shall ever leave it."

"Then take it," says Ravus, stirring in preparation to rise. "Of the two of us, I am more accustomed to sleeping on the gr—"

"Absolutely not," interrupts Lunafreya, fingers curling around Ravus's human arm with surprising strength to hold him back. "I am the intruder here. I refuse to force you out of your own bed."

Ravus sighs. "Stella, you are hardly  _intruding_."

"Be that as it may, you need more rest than the floor will afford you before tomorrow," says Lunafreya. "Your bed is large enough to share, if you care to compromise."

However sweet, her words are more an order than a suggestion, but Ravus deliberates over accepting her rule all the same. They have slept in the same bed many times before, but only as children, blissfully ignorant to the usual implications. And, given tonight's incomprehensible complications, Ravus has serious doubts as to the advisability of prolonging their proximity.

No—that is irrelevant. The love of Lunafreya is one of few certainties in his life. Far be it from him to push her farther away, especially so soon after she has finally come to realize his depth of caring. "As you wish," says Ravus, turning in place. "But you happen to be sitting on my side."

"Why do you  _have_  a side?" asks Lunafreya, but scoots over obediently to the right. "You sleep on your back. And alone."

"I just do," says Ravus, sitting in his usual place and leaning back against the headboard, but cannot bring himself to get under his covers just yet. Such an action feels oddly shameful, like exposing a vulnerability verging on the taboo. The prospects of readjusting his position, trying to get comfortable with his sister watching his every move, send his mind spinning. Since when has he been so hyper-aware of physicality?

Lunafreya only laughs, crawling forward, and Ravus eyes her somewhat warily. "Do you remember how I used to tell you good night?" she asks wistfully, and in her eyes is a yearning for home, a craving for some sense of familiarity. That, at least, Ravus can provide her, better even than Noctis. Distant as they may have grown, they have still spent far more time together.

"Remind me," says Ravus, and Lunafreya kneels beside him with a smile. Taking his head in both her hands, she presses a kiss to his every freckle as she used to do, though he has significantly fewer now. And, as she works, Ravus is helplessly transfixed.

These are not the same little hands he remembers, clumsy and enthusiastic, eager to convey her affection the only way she knew how. These are the hands of a woman, dainty and deliberate, as they caress his jaw and turn his head slowly this way and that. He used to do it himself to oblige her, before she had the strength to move him, but now she can weaken him with a mere glance.

These are not the same light kisses he remembers from rosebud lips, still so tiny, chaste and quick. These are the kisses of a woman, soft and lingering and the slightest bit sticky from gloss, and his heart skips more than one beat as her sweet breath brushes across his skin. In between, she studies his face solemnly, carefully, in search of the next spot. And his body, ever receptive to her subtle commands, offers no resistance.

Until one or two touches linger too near his mouth, electrifying his senses as her lips barely…  _barely_ … brush his.

Something wound tightly around his heart loosens inside him, and he inhales sharply as it uncoils into aching chaos. This has gone too far, and taken what remains of his sanity with it. "Lu—Stella," he growls, taking her shoulders and moving her back perhaps more roughly than he intends. "Don't."

They have kissed on the lips as children, of course, in a manner befitting young siblings, but tonight has felt different from the start. And whatever she is doing to him, she knows. She has always been more curious than she has let on, and this is her way of testing the waters, feeling out his boundaries through careful experimentation. But to what end…?

Lunafreya evaluates his expression for a moment before withdrawing. "I apologize," she murmurs. "Perhaps I was mistaken." But she does not offer a word of explanation, and Ravus is too shaken to ask. Somewhere in the shadows of his conscious thoughts, he knows that he did not stop Lunafreya because he wished it, only because he sensed a point of no return approaching at a breakneck pace. Yet, no sooner did he turn away from that point than he found himself— _finds_  himself—wanting a taste of something beyond it.

And that frightens him like nothing else ever has.

"Good night, Ravus," says Lunafreya, drawing him back out of his turbulent thoughts. He looks up distractedly to find her settling into his bed, nestling deeper beneath the covers just as she worked her way into the folds of his heart. And that soft rustling, amid those gentle undulations of readjustment, works its way under his skin in other ways. It agitates his senses so that his mind is totally addled by Lunafreya's presence, so close beside him. Finally, Ravus understands how she could insist that sleeping was a waste of her time: he has never felt less tired in his life.

Still, he must rest, and that reminds him that a response is probably expected of him. "Good night, Stella," he says, turning out the light at last, and slips under the blankets. Ravus feels laid bare before Lunafreya's warm gaze, even in darkness; there can be no shame in trying to find a comfortable position now, especially as she has taken the initiative. Closing his eyes, he focuses on readjusting his wayward thoughts as well as his body, knowing sleep will be a longer time coming even than usual.

Still, there is one consolation, thinks Ravus, lips twitching into a rueful half-smile. Slaying the Hydraean tomorrow will be  _nothing_  to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want this story to just be awkward and at least _somewhat_ ambiguous, you'd better stop here before things get out of hand. But if you'd rather Ravus finally figure out what his own thoughts and Lunafreya have been hinting at this whole time, feel free to read ahead.


	2. unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As he stares her down, caught somewhere between love and self-loathing, he sees the same profound confusion reflected in her eyes. His orbit around her has always been elliptical, irregular. It is only a matter of time before they crash. Mere moments, now. And their impending impact sparks that peculiar impulse once more, only this time it has slowed down enough for him to understand it."
> 
> In which some lies turn out to be true after all, and—once he comes to terms with his new reality—Ravus realizes that he has a few firsts to catch up on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads-up, this chapter contains brief mention of childhood self-exploration. Not enough to be worth an archive warning, and the context is benign, but still. Figured I'd let you know.

**unravel,** verb:  _investigate and solve or explain (something complicated or puzzling)  
__**or**_ _begin to fail or collapse_

Some time later—drowsing, drowning, in the earliest hours of the morning—and dawn seems both a heartbeat and an eternity away.

It felt like this once before, when he slid the Ring onto his left ring finger; a wedding band, symbolic of the fateful union to come. Time stopped, all around him, the fabric of reality already bending to his will.  _Hear me, Lucian kings of old, f_ _or I am Ravus Nox Fleuret, and none is more worthy of your power than I!_

 _Speak, son of darkness_ , returned a deep and distorted voice, and the spectral rulers of yore made their ghostly appearances all around him.  _For what ignoble purpose do you dare stir us from slumber?_

Time may have come to a halt, but Ravus knew there was none of it to argue.  _I need your blessing to save my sister._ _The Empire destroyed my country because of your Chosen King. His father failed to protect the Oracle, and the son will be the same_.

 _Arrogant whelp!_  hissed another of the kings.  _Know your place. It is not for you to say what will or will not be. The Oracle's place is to help the king, while the king serves only the Crystal_.

 _The quarrels of men are not our concern_ , added yet another, before Ravus could so much as interject.  _Borders change; such is the nature of this world. Our power is meant only to safeguard our lineage. The King of Kings must rise_.

 _So you look after your own and forsake all others_ , said Ravus, anger rising.  _How can the king save our star if he cannot save one woman?_

 _How can_ you _save our star if one woman is all you love upon it?_ retorted a queen contemptuously. _I see the shadows lurking in your heart, ties more binding even than blood. You will sacrifice the light on the Oracle's altar if it means she will live_.

 _Yet he is also capable of great selflessness_ , said one of the kings, wielding a trident, a gigantic replica of the Oracle's own.  _This man seeks our power to protect others—to do what I could not. He does not desire vengeance, or to create another dynasty_.

 _But he should not require our assistance to perform his duty as man and brother,_ said another queen, eerily masked.

There was only a very brief pause before their leader spoke.  _You are undeserving of our power,_ he announced, and white-hot pain sparked to life in Ravus's ring finger, igniting and spreading like fire. From finger to hand, and hand to arm…

 _No,_  gasped Ravus, aloud again, his agony pulling him back into the physical.  _Why… why do you refuse me?_  Colors shimmered into his vision, iridescent, and every one of them meant more suffering. But Ravus received no answer to his question, save for his flesh bursting into more literal flames. Crying out, he clutched his afflicted hand with the other, but not before the Ring slipped from his grasp.

 _Your unselfish devotion to the Oracle has spared your life,_ another voice echoed, though it was almost drowned out by Ravus's helpless screams, tearing themselves from his throat.  _Repent of your jealousy, and find your calling. Your strength must be your own, whatever shape it may take_.

"Ravus," calls a familiar yet faraway voice, and he is no longer himself.

Stirring sluggishly, he struggles to kick toward the surface of consciousness, but something more powerful than he knows curls around him—paralyzes him—holds him under so that he can barely breathe—lungs aching, heart hurting, arm burning. He never knew true terror until that moment, and now he knows it again. Intimately.

"Ravus!"

 _Lunafreya_. As Ravus puts a name to the voice, his body relaxes, arm tingling back into numbness, and he follows the sound back into the waking world. Here, he is not alone. One of Lunafreya's stockinged legs is hooked around one of his, the length of her body pressing against his side and curving over his chest. She has propped herself up half atop him, one hand cupping the side of his face.

Perhaps Ravus is still dreaming…

"Nightmare?" asks Lunafreya, caressing his cheek, but he jerks his head away from her automatically, and she withdraws her hand. Regardless of her intention, being confronted with any kind of sensation after such peaceful stillness is more than he can handle. (Especially one that reminds him of her lips, brushing against his skin; this is too much, too fast, too soon.)

Ravus swallows dryly. "N-no," he says, flexing his prosthetic fingers. Mere dreams, good or bad, always vanish into the ether as soon as he wakes. "A memory." He does not make a habit of running from his past, but he cannot seem to catch his breath, still shallow and uneven. It takes Ravus a moment to realize that it is because Lunafreya's presence is smothering him.

Suffocation has never felt so appealing, but the noise in his head that comes with it is unbearable. Extricating himself from their tangle of limbs, Ravus sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed. Lunafreya sits up in his peripheral vision, and though she says nothing, the cool night air between them hums with anxious questions and selfless offers.

That alone is enough to soothe his heart. "The Ring," says Ravus eventually, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. And Lunafreya understands, crawling behind him to rest her tentative hands on his shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

Once Ravus permits her to touch him this time, she leans her forehead against the top of his spine. "Why did you do it, Ravus?" asks Lunafreya. "The Empire conferred great power upon you, and the promise of security to go with it. Yet you tried to throw that certainty away in favor of a fate most others would flee. What for?"

"For you," says Ravus quietly, the answer ready on his tongue. "All I ever wanted was to protect you, and to share your fate in some small way—to lift the burden from your shoulders. But the kings' spirits told me that I was unworthy, and that I must find my own calling."

Lunafreya hesitates. "Haven't you?"

Bowing his head, Ravus clasps his mismatched hands before him. "I am a former prince of a fallen territory, an outsider in the ranks of the Empire, and an enemy of Lucis," he says, letting out a sigh. "Where do I belong, if not with you?" Doubt spills from his mouth, fears he did not know he has until he voices them, and his weary eyes burn.

Ravus has not come this close to crying since he awakened alone in the Citadel, arm painless but useless, and fled alone into the soon-to-be ruins of Insomnia. The Empire had assumed he'd been killed in action before he found his way to one of the airships. The truth of the matter is that his ascension to High Commander was as much to keep a closer eye on him, ensuring that he did not betray them in response to their betrayal, as because he was next in line.

Rather than speak, Lunafreya squeezes Ravus's shoulder muscles, first in reassurance, and then in the beginnings of an amateur massage. Though her touch is gentle, even frail, he finds himself relaxing instinctively. As he finally breathes again, his tears retreat as suddenly as they welled up. Here, he is not alone; here, he is safe. How long has it been since he has felt secure enough to let anyone touch him like this…?

But Ravus tenses again as his senses sharpen to match Lunafreya's fingernails, pressing unconsciously into his skin. Not enough to hurt—his tolerance for pain has always been abnormally high—but enough that a physical impulse flashes across his mind. It passes too swiftly for him to recognize, let alone act on it, but his body twitches all the same. What was that?

Lunafreya must feel it, but she does not stop her steady rhythm. If anything, she works his muscles all the harder. "I can tell you carry the weight of the world on these shoulders," she says, and the hint of exertion in her voice sets Ravus's nerves ablaze again. She had better not be exhausting herself for the sake of comforting him. "If only you took care of yourself the way you have always tried to take care of me…"

Ravus shakes his head as Lunafreya trails off. In the grand scheme of things, he is entirely unimportant. The rulers of yore made that abundantly clear. But he cannot bring himself to say as much. They have quarreled over petty matters enough tonight as it is.

As the silence endures, Lunafreya loses herself in thought. Ravus can feel it in her distracted hands, gradually slowing to a stop, the pads of her fingers pressing into his shoulders as her palms slide a few inches down his back. His breath catches, stomach swooping: that urge, again. He must find out what it is, trace it back through his knotted gut.

But Lunafreya speaks before Ravus can identify it, and the epiphany slips once more from his grasp.

"Always," she murmurs, as if in a trance. "Always, you have been here for me. Yet, even after all this time… I never realized that the one I missed most dearly never truly left my side after all." Lunafreya's hands withdraw, and Ravus turns in place to look at her, heart swelling. Watery moonlight washes over her, softening and brightening already soft and bright features but there is such unbearable sorrow in her countenance. "Can you ever forgive me, Ravus?"

" _Forgive_  you?" repeats Ravus, swinging his legs back up on top of the covers, and Lunafreya scoots back to give him more space. "You have never wronged me. Not once. You have no reason to apologize." He looks Lunafreya in the eye, though it is a little easier for her to dodge his gaze in the darkness. "I forbid it."

But Lunafreya only laughs softly, and perhaps a little sadly, and looks away again. "On what authority do you issue such a command? I am no longer of the Empire, and we have spent too long as strangers for us to behave as siblings now."

Ravus sighs. "Nonetheless, you  _are_  still my sister."

"Am I?" asks Lunafreya, turning her head to look at him sideways, and a shiver runs up and down Ravus's spine at her expression. Perhaps she is right: in the silver-lit shadows, and under a false name, it is all too easy to imagine her as someone completely different. "You cannot see the way you look at me. I can."

Ravus opens his mouth to ask how exactly he looks, trying to conceal his sudden self-conscious discomfort—but Lunafreya leans forward, and he stops short. As she studies his face with expectant expression, he shifts in place uncertainly. What reaction is she looking for? Moistening his lips under her careful scrutiny, Ravus swallows irrational anxiety.

And, in doing so, he evidently proves Lunafreya's point. "In the moments of silence between us, you lose your focus, and your nerve," she says, and Ravus only remembers to breathe as she moves back again. "I have never seen you look like that before."

Ravus narrows his eyes. If Lunafreya claims to know his heart better than he does, the least she can do is shed some of her light on it. "And your point is?"

Lunafreya takes a deep breath. "A thousand apologies if I am mistaken, sweet brother, but I can't help wondering… if you are in love with me."

Cold lightning strikes Ravus's heart, stopping it dead in his chest, and he stares at his sister with new eyes. Sightless. Breathless. Thoughtless, but for the queen's scathing whisper:  _ties more binding even than blood_. A misshapen piece clicks into place somewhere in his soul, but he cannot concentrate long enough to feel out its edges.

And no words come.

As the silence endures, Ravus's heart starts beating again, and his thoughts return with his pulse to shake his entire being. He must say something, anything. Say no. Say he loves her, or lie that he loves her not, but he  _cannot_  tell her that he is in love, although he can feel its truth. "I am not a part of your destiny, Luna—Stella," says Ravus, finally finding his voice. "My feelings, whatever they may be, are inconsequential."

"Not to me."

"Irrelevant, then," says Ravus, more forcefully, and wrenches his head away to stare at the opposite wall. "What is it you want from me?" Perhaps she will deign to answer him this time.

Ravus can feel Lunafreya's eyes on him, but does not dare turn to look back at her expression. "Well, if I must be honest," she says eventually, the merest hint of a resigned sigh edging her words. "I suppose… I want  _you_."

There is the thunder to follow the lightning, rattling Ravus's body and drowning out all else. Nothing could possibly have prepared him for this. And yet, it feels as though all of tonight has been leading up to this moment, the restless calm before the storm. He feels an ache of longing he never noticed, but it throbs all the more sharply instead of fading away. No wonder he blinded himself to all her hints and tests, if reciprocation is so painful.

Ravus feels himself turn pale, and then flush, with the tide of his blood. He breathes out, and then in. "N-no," he says, because he must, and it takes all his considerable strength to look at Lunafreya again. "You can't." She is the Oracle of the Six, a paragon of virtue, too far above this; above him. She has illuminated his own corruption, but she must not share in it.

"I have thought much on this tonight, Ravus," says Lunafreya quietly, turning her face away. "And I know now that it was always your heart I sought. I simply looked for it elsewhere, after I thought the Empire took you away from me." No. No.  _No_. Panic floods Ravus's entire being; she must be lying. But his sister never lies. The woman he loves never lies.

The woman he loves  _must not_ love him too.

Ravus's body moves without his consent, and he lunges forward to take Lunafreya by the shoulders. She flinches at the suddenness, startled eyes snapping back to him, but does not struggle even when he shakes her. "This has gone far enough," he hisses, searching her eyes desperately. His moral compass has always pointed to her; what is he to do if she has lost her way? Can this be his fault? "Cease this madness, and go to the man you love."

"I am with him," insists Lunafreya, glaring at Ravus for what may be the very first time, and his hands slacken in shock. "The last time I saw my fiancé, we were both children. Who knows how many of your traits I projected onto him as he matured? And how many I decided a divinely chosen king should have?"

"Are you saying that you do not love him?" demands Ravus, tightening his grip again. "After all you insinuated about your intentions tonight?" The Oracle ought not be so unfaithful to her own heart that she leads her brother purposely into temptation.

Lunafreya's color heightens. "I am  _saying_  that I love you, too," she retorts. "And that I loved you first. I understand that now."

Ravus shakes his head wildly, a few locks of hair falling into his face. "But you must love him more." Regardless of his personal feelings toward Noctis—and regardless of the alleged Chosen King's worthiness—he needs Lunafreya to stay true to herself, more than anything or anyone else. He has always been willing to forego his own happiness, if she can only find hers. She must know that.

"I know!" exclaims Lunafreya, on the brink of tears, as though reading his thoughts. "Believe me, I know very well what I must and must not feel. But that knowledge changes nothing!" She fidgets with the hem of her skirt, at a loss for what else to do with herself, and glowers at the wall. "You are too kind to trifle with me, Ravus. If you do not love me as I love you, then you have only to say so, and I will leave you be."

A pang shoots across Ravus's heart, and he closes his eyes briefly. "Go."

" _No_ ," says Lunafreya, grasping his human wrist with strength born of desperation, though her fingers are trembling. "Look me in the eye. Tell me I am your sister, nothing more. Or tell me I was right, and you have changed." She swallows, blinking a few times rapidly. "Tell me I—tell me I'm sick, Ravus." And he can see in her eyes that she needs to hear it. She does not want him to love her, any more than he wants her to love him.

Yet still they love one another.

Ravus curls his magitek fingers around Lunafreya's wrist, forcing her to let go of him, but does not realize how powerful his grip is until he hears her sharp inhalation. (It is still difficult to adjust for his prosthetic.) He makes an effort to loosen his grasp, but does not let her go. "You ask the impossible."

Lunafreya shakes her head. "There is no sense in denying the truth, Rav—!"

She cuts herself off with another little gasp as Ravus holds her arm up between them, pulling her slightly forward. "Do you think this an easy choice?" he hisses, his voice low in his throat. "I  _love_  you, Lunafreya, more than I can ever imagine loving anyone else. But if you stay, then I will hurt you." Ravus tightens his grip on her arm again, by way of demonstrating his point in a more literal sense. "I couldn't bear that."

As Lunafreya squirms, he finally lets her go, but she does not even pause to rub her arm before she moves forward again. " _Do your worst_ ," she says, and the determination in her voice sets Ravus's pulse racing. "You cannot possibly cause me more pain, of any kind, than my fate has already caused. And if you are not a part of that destiny, as you insist, then how can you claim to be more dangerous than any of the challenges I face daily?"

Lunafreya's voice is soothing, confident, reassuring, a poison to even the most well-reasoned doubts—but only when she has to stop to catch her breath, more from passion than exertion, does it truly take effect. In that moment, Ravus finds that what he wants most in the world is to  _believe_  her, to smother his conscience and give himself over to her will.

As he stares her down, caught somewhere between love and self-loathing, he sees the same profound confusion reflected in her eyes. His orbit around her has always been elliptical, irregular. It is only a matter of time before they crash. Mere moments, now. And their impending impact sparks that peculiar impulse once more, only this time it has slowed down enough for him to understand it.

"Gods help us both," whispers Ravus, caressing Lunafreya's cheek with his human hand, and leans in.

The moment is beautiful in its imperfection. They tilt their heads as one, closing their eyes so that the collision of their mouths startles them both. A split second after their mutual withdrawal, their determination is renewed along with their gesture. But as their connection is established, and his affection conveyed, Ravus pulls away. He has never particularly understood gestures that go beyond the familial: how does one go about deepening a kiss?

"More," murmurs Lunafreya, as Ravus eyes her somewhat nervously, and draws him back in again.

Ravus follows her through a half-chaste string of light touches, tentative in her own inexperience… and then deeper, once her lips part beneath his. Thoughts vanish once more from his mind like the breath from his lungs, but he finds that she is all the air he needs, spurring him on to greater heights. Together, the two of them establish a bittersweet and compelling rhythm, and Ravus is perfectly willing to drown in it, in  _her_.

But Lunafreya must break away to breathe again before long. Unable to bear separating so soon, Ravus forces himself to distance himself in stages. He presses kisses to her few freckles in an echo of her goodnight—the curve of her chin; above her eyebrow; the side of her throat; the forearm he could easily have bruised—all from precious memory.

There is an infinitesimal silence.

"I don't want to hear a word about how wrong this is," bursts out Lunafreya, and Ravus blinks at her a few times in surprise. She expects him to put up a fight, then, although protestation is the furthest thing from what is left of his mind. "I know that as well as you do."

Ravus shakes his head. "If loving you is wrong, what can be right?" he asks, but the words come out barely voiced, and he clears his throat self-consciously. "I am yours, Lunafreya. But I know you can never be mine." Clouded though they may be, his thoughts have settled in the wake of her kiss. Let that be their farewell, an acknowledgment of all that can never be: he has made his peace.

Mostly. A restless tension still stretches between them, but as long as neither of them touches it—as long as they disengage before this goes any farther—

"I am for tonight," says Lunafreya. "Or… what remains of it." Ravus's conscience begins to stir again in the aftermath of her kisses, but his will is too weak to send her away now. There is only one path forward; he needs another fix to put it under for good.

Still, the price is steep: "The love of you will be the death of me."

"And the same is true for me," returns Lunafreya. "But at least we can make that little death sweeter than the one that may await us both tomorrow. I don't want either of us to have any regrets." As she speaks, she shifts slightly closer to Ravus again, a question in her eyes.

And, though his lips form no words, they answer it all the same.

The kiss overflows more quickly this time, although it seems time has ceased to exist. Its flow interrupted and rearranged, it condenses and expands between them, transcending eternity, until all that matters is the two of them. Together. They are man and woman before they are brother and sister, after all.

Ravus draws Lunafreya closer, human fingers pulling her toward him by the wrist, magitek fingers curling around the back of her neck. Rather than follow passively, she crawls forward to back him against the headboard—placing both her hands on his bare shoulders to push him in more ways than the one—and nestles a leg securely between his.

It is not a seamless transition. Ravus jumps, and Lunafreya shivers, and they pull away with a soft wet sound. Leaning their foreheads together, they breathe into one another with half-giddy half-smiles, too proud of themselves and one another—and what is the difference, really—to be ashamed.

However reluctantly, Ravus is prepared to wait until they have enough breath to do it again, but impatience does run in the family. After a brief pause, Lunafreya draws back, sinking down slowly to sit just above his knee, and moves her leg slightly forward to increase the pressure between his. As she does so, his thoughts scatter, flitting between lip gloss and lingerie, and he stops breathing altogether.

This does not escape Lunafreya's notice.

"Are you all right?" she asks, readjusting herself closer still, and Ravus tenses as she holds the back of her hand to his forehead. "Even in darkness, I can see your face is red, and your eyes are glassy. Have you come down with a fever?" Though Lunafreya's tone is teasing, Ravus does feel almost sick, if only with anticipation. But the heat is hers, from the friction on his thigh.

"You're playing a dangerous game," says Ravus huskily.

"True," murmurs Lunafreya, her eyes laughing. "But I cannot lose."

Ravus can do nothing but lean forward again. This kiss is less experimental, hungrier. Lunafreya's hands wander—brushing across his torso, tracing the outlines of each of his muscles—but he stays his own for now. They have time, after all, or at least the illusion thereof. And he is confident in the knowledge of all she has given him; there is no rush. She is his.

Sister.

 _No_. Ravus's frustration manifests in an external burst of passion, an insistent roll of Lunafreya's lower lip in his teeth. Heart. Body and soul.  _His_. Everything he has ever wanted, here, in his hands and mouth and over his (dead) body. And his hands wander too, now, human fingers woven in her hair, prosthetic resting on the crook of her waist. Gods, how he wishes he could feel it.

Ravus only realizes how much of his blood Lunafreya has drawn down once her hands start fidgeting with his waistband, and surfaces abruptly. "How far—do you mean to—to push me?" he gasps, between kisses.

"As far as you are willing to go," returns Lunafreya, half mumbling into his lips.

Her voice is dreamy, low like their inhibitions, but Ravus freezes. "You mean to give me…"

"Myself," finishes Lunafreya in a single impassioned breath, and their eyes lock. "Everything I intended to offer Noctis. I told you once already that I am yours, should you choose to accept me." She says it as though Ravus has a choice. How can he possibly reject her, after all she has told him—all she has shown him—all she has made him feel?

But there is still one question that must be answered, and Ravus must force himself to ask it. He has never been overly familiar with the Cosmogony, but seducing one's brother in place of one's betrothed must be a sin of the highest order. "H-how will you face Noc—your intended on your wedding night?" he asks, struggling to maintain a clear head. If Lunafreya means to break the laws of gods and men, she must do so conscious of the potential ramifications.

A shadow of grief passes over Lunafreya's face, barely visible. "The burdens of my conscience are mine alone to bear. Even the Oracle is still human, and subject to all the selfish foibles of her race. And believe me, I am more than prepared to accept the consequences of indulging them."

Ravus breathes again, but Lunafreya does not give him a chance to react. Instead, she kisses him once more, swiftly this time, almost desperately, as if afraid he will vanish from beneath her. "If there is any doubt in your mind, then please, send me away," she whispers; a hot tear drops onto his chest, startling him. "But know that there is no doubt left in mine. I loved you first, as I have said, and it is you I see in him."

Though he never knew it until tonight, that is all Ravus has ever wanted to hear. "Oh, Lunafreya," he murmurs, bringing his hand up to her cheek, and brushes another tear away with his thumb. "I could never send you away now." Even as unprepared for an encounter like this as he is. She must know, yet still she persists. That is enough for him.

Lunafreya relaxes visibly, expression softening. "Then…"

"I only needed to hear you say it," says Ravus. "That you have considered this carefully enough to be sure. As—as I have." Subconsciously, yes, but he has never felt so certain of anything in his life. Ravus may only have learned the depth of his love for Lunafreya tonight, but it feels as though he has loved her forever. Such is the nature of eternal truth, desire stretching back through the years so that this decision does not seem so sudden.

"And for that, I thank you," says Lunafreya, gazing at him. Their shared resolution feels as solemn and enduring as an exchange of vows, and her gaze is like the forgotten sunlight Ravus used to love, but he is too distracted to bask in it for long. Embers of desire still burn in his blood, rekindling as he draws her back in again to pick up where they left off.

Still, his body yearns for more. And Lunafreya, judging by the responsive eagerness of her touch, yearns to give it.

If Ravus was able to think straight, he might reflect on how he had his first kiss mere minutes ago, yet now he pants for another, more momentous first. It is as though these events, too, are scattering themselves backwards in time. But he has never been adept at capturing such sentiments in words. It is enough to experience them, and feel the truth for himself.

Breaking away from him briefly, Lunafreya moves her leg to straddle Ravus properly, kneeling over him. But as he pushes himself further upright, she seats herself on his belly, just above his waistband. He inhales through grit teeth, pulse pounding, head spinning, and it takes him a moment to put words to the sensation. Damp lace— _wet_  lace—rubs against his skin so that he nearly jumps out of it.

Lunafreya smiles at his expression, making herself comfortable and Ravus uncomfortable. "I think I may have missed a few spots during our goodnight," she says, pushing him against the headboard again… and then her lips are at his throat, gentle, growing more insistent. As Ravus tilts his chin instinctively to expose more of his neck, her tongue trails from freckle to freckle, so softly that he does not expect the prick of pleasurable pain as Lunafreya nips him.

He stifles an involuntary vocalization, and she halts, but he shakes his head. "Don't stop," he mutters, sitting up a little straighter—but as he does so, she allows herself to slide down his torso. And as she grinds back against him, too intently for it to be an accident, his next vocalization is just as involuntary but not so stifled: " _Fuck_!"

Lunafreya smirks into the crook of his neck. "I don't believe I've ever heard you swear before."

"I haven't had c-cause to," manages Ravus, though it is made significantly more difficult to speak as Lunafreya starts moving again.

All at once, now, and Ravus must reciprocate, try and reflect back onto her what she is doing to him. He runs his human hand down her back and up again, then lower, and she inhales—brushes one of her straps off her shoulder, tracing her collarbone—but then Lunafreya raises herself onto her knees, her fingers finding his waistband again.

And again, he catches them. His magitek hand, at least, does not tremble as noticeably.

"The least you can do is let me see what I am doing to you," complains Lunafreya, breathing hard, but does not press the matter. She knows as well as he does that their boundaries are delicate, and specific. If this experience becomes too real, they might remember who they are. More importantly, a thought, worrisome enough that it manifests even in this state, crosses Ravus's mind: Lunafreya is acting far too bold to be as innocent as she claims.

But of course, he must remind himself that she was like this as a child, too, before she learned the value of propriety. Precocious as always, Lunafreya realized that touching herself felt good when she was four years old and Ravus was seven, and ran to him with the intention of demonstrating her brilliant discovery.

 _It's like a heartbeat!_  she exclaimed, flushed with excitement of more than one kind, and sat down on the floor to prove it with nothing but her hands and the friction through her dress. Once he got over his shock, Ravus scolded Lunafreya for her indiscretion, informed her sternly that such behavior belonged behind closed doors… and then tried it himself, that night.

It  _was_  like a heartbeat, in the end. Better than a heartbeat. But it only ever gave Ravus the experience required to pleasure himself; he never considered doing the same to anyone else. Really, he only ever does it for the sensation, and the afterglow in which sleep comes more easily. To him, it is entirely independent from sex, a bedtime ritual like any other. But as for Lunafreya…

"How do you know… how…?"

Though Ravus cannot finish his mumbled question, Lunafreya seems to understand, and colors slightly. "I confess that I am rather fond of cheap romance novels," she says, and Ravus feels a rush of relief despite himself. To hear conclusively that he is setting her standards here, too, is undeniably reassuring.

When he can say nothing more, Lunafreya clears her throat. "Now that you are secure in my  _innocence,_  so to speak," she says, still pink. "Are you going to let me touch you directly, or do you intend to change those trousers tonight?"

Ravus blushes more furiously still at her implications, but manages to meet her eyes. "Neither. You are going to let me touch you first."

"Oh," says Lunafreya, looking momentarily surprised, and perhaps a little self-conscious. "All right."

"Don't tell me you have changed your mind," says Ravus, frowning. He has no intention of pressuring her, of course, but it would certainly be a disappointment. Especially since she was the one who set him on this path, and showed him that this was possible. To have it torn away from him so soon… well, he would need to request some time alone in the bathroom before all was said and done.

Thankfully, Lunafreya shakes her head. "I have heard that a woman's first time is… less enjoyable… than a man's. I prefer to keep my expectations low. Just in case."

Ravus's frown becomes a scowl. "That will not do."

"You expect to outlast me?"

"I  _expect_  to put in the effort to make you feel as I feel, like any man should," says Ravus impatiently. "All the more reason to start now. I don't care if we are in this bed until sunrise; you will not be left wanting." Their eyes lock. "Teach me how to touch you. Now."

Lunafreya looks somewhat taken aback at first, but then smiles uncertainly and takes his human hand. At first, he thinks it a mere gesture of appreciation, but then she turns it to face palm up and brings it forward, beneath her, between her legs. "Start on the outside," she says, and they both jump at the first contact between them. "You'll want to focus your efforts  _here_ , eventually, but not too much. And not yet."

Obediently, Ravus rubs slow circles through soft fabric, first with her hand guiding his wrist, and then on his own—watching her reactions to feel out and develop a pattern. Gradually, he gets it right, judging by her reactions; the relaxation of her muscles, a deeper flush across her face, a tremor in her body, a wetness seeping down.

" _Yes_ ," breathes Lunafreya. "Yes, Ravus, just like that."

But Ravus cannot continue just like that for much longer while he can feel that her body is ready for him to provide something better, and he hooks his finger around her panties' gusset to tug them down. Lunafreya gasps, but does not stop him, and seems pleased enough with his initiative that she helps him pull them the rest of the way off.

Why removing one layer makes such a difference, Ravus has no idea, but he is incapable of questioning it. He simply strokes her carefully, no clothes in the way this time—teasing her until neither of them can stand delaying any longer—and then—hmm. One finger in, and Ravus already has his doubts. This is already a smaller opening, and a tighter fit, than he anticipated. (Not that he has ever spent a great deal of time thinking about things like this, of course.)

"How, exactly, am I supposed to fit inside  _that_?"

Only as Lunafreya's eyes sparkle does Ravus realize he spoke aloud. "Just imagine how it'll feel," she whispers, and his mind obeys automatically. And then he wishes he hadn't. Hot, and wet, and this tight? He has never doubted his stamina before, but given that this will be an entirely new experience, he'll have to work harder than he thought to keep up.

As Ravus works, Lunafreya leans on his shoulder for support, keeping her body above his to avoid overstimulating him. Ravus gathers Lunafreya close to him with his magitek arm, first skimming her lower back and then steadying her by the buttocks, kissing her neck—

"St-stop," commands Lunafreya, and Ravus withdraws upon the instant. Now that he thinks of it, leaving any marks would be a bad idea. But she grasps his wrist to hold him still, and he realizes she means to stop everything  _else_. "That's enough. Take me too far, and you may miss your own chance."

"Your satisfaction is far more important to me than my own."

Lunafreya tosses him a skeptical glance, then looks pointedly at the front of his trousers. "Then what do you intend to do about  _that_?"

Ravus coughs faintly. "The same thing all men do about it."

"I have a better idea," says Lunafreya, arranging herself over him carefully, and eases Ravus's trousers gradually down. "Hold still."

He narrowly resists the urge to yank them back up again, or swat her hands away. Not having  _looked_  at Lunafreya, only touched her, it strikes Ravus as somewhat unfair to let her see him as good as naked. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Lunafreya sighs, as if he has missed something obvious, or ruined some sort of surprise. "Preparing my throne."

"You mean to…" Ravus trails off, turning absolutely scarlet as he tries to imagine what is about to happen. Not that he is complaining, since it feels like the fulfillment of a fantasy he never knew he had, but dominance strikes him as requiring more energy than she can afford to exert in her delicate condition.

Lunafreya only nods. "How hard can it be?"

Ravus swallows a groan. "Very."

"Patience," Lunafreya chides him, smiling. She has no idea how close his self-control is to snapping. "That is ordinarily your strong suit, is it not?"

"There is nothing ordinary about this situation,  _Stella_ ," says Ravus, but trails off breathily as Lunafreya pushes his trousers down, just far enough to set him free. The slight widening of her eyes, the unconscious parting of her lips, and the flush across her skin—more pronounced than ever—tell him well enough that she is pleased with what she sees. He hasn't any idea what criteria he is meeting, but based on her reaction, there is no denying that he meets them.

Which is more gratifying than he expected.

Taking a deep breath, Lunafreya lowers her haunches over Ravus, and he holds himself still for her as she feels for the right place. Even just this unintentional teasing as she finds it, and settles gradually down, is heaven. But then, halfway in, and she stops, still kneeling over him. Her body tenses and relaxes in the first, experimental movement, forward and back, and Ravus swallows convulsively.

Lunafreya laughs an unsteady, helpless kind of giggle. "I never thought we'd…"

"Don't think," interrupts Ravus, glowering. Thinking is too dangerous in a situation like this, and his brain barely functions anymore anyway. "Just move."

"Yes,  _High_  Commander," says Lunafreya, pressing both hands to his chest in a pointed shove downward, and there her hands remain. Breath catching at the use of his title in such a context, Ravus grips her hips to hold her steady as she moves with a kind of slick friction, back and forth, back and forth. Slowly, slowly, Lunafreya slides the rest of the way downward, taking him gradually in as she moves to and fro.

Until there is some resistance.

Pausing with a little frown, Lunafreya eases her way lower, easing—and then, and all at once, she sinks down square atop him so that Ravus stands in her to the hilt. He inhales sharply as she gives a little gasp, wide-eyed, and then there is stillness, all around them and inside. That must have been… "Are you all right?" asks Ravus, sitting up to support Lunafreya more fully, enveloping her trembling body protectively in his.

Lunafreya lets out a breathy laugh, both nervous and relieved. "Yes," she says, resting her hands on Ravus's shoulders. Gratitude shines in her eyes alongside somewhat sheepish pride. "It—it doesn't hurt as much as I thought."

"Good," says Ravus, kissing her again. More briefly, this time. Then she eases tremulously back into motion again, rippling against him, more and more and  _more_. And oh, hell never felt so much like paradise, a veritable river rushing over him as she creates a rhythm at last. Not too fast, nor too slow, but intimate, encircled by his embrace.

Ravus holds her still whenever the end draws too near, concentrating on bringing her pleasure to delay his own reactions. He kisses her neck again, and she knots her fingers in his hair to encourage him, heedless of the bruises blossoming beneath his lips—kneads her breast, pinching her nipple not-so-gently between two of his human fingers, and relishes her little gasp as she picks up the pace—arranges his prosthetic between Lunafreya's legs just so, ensuring that her sweet spot is not neglected—

But Lunafreya must stop now and again, more and more often as time wears on, and Ravus realizes hazily that the exertion is too much for her after all. Her breathing is rough and ragged in exhaustion as much as pleasure. "You've done well," he tells her during one of her breaks, as firmly he can with so little air left in his lungs. "I'll take over from here."

He half expects Lunafreya to argue, but instead she nods exhaustedly. "Thank you," she says, and accepts Ravus's assistance in sliding off him. "Do you need me to take off my dress?"

Ravus might have hesitated not too long ago, afraid that it might remind them of their sin, but there is no longer any danger of awakening from this dream. They have come too far to stop now. "That may be easier, yes," he says, yanking off his trousers and tossing them aside. "But get under the covers. I won't have you catching a ch…"

He makes the mistake of looking at Lunafreya as she pulls her dress over her head, and trails off. Just like that, there she is, kneeling, naked,  _perfect_ , tilting her head at him with a knowing, dazzlingly mischievous smile. Just when Ravus thought he could not be more ready, her expression alone is almost enough to finish him. It is through sheer willpower that he holds himself back; he has a standard to set.

"Get under the covers, Lu—Stella," repeats Ravus, his voice cracking for the first time in what must be years, and Lunafreya laughs as she obeys.

It takes some effort for Ravus to follow suit, arranging himself over her just so (and ignoring how his hair falls into his face), but he wouldn't trade that for anything. It means he has a chance to cool off, strategize, perhaps last a little longer. Though Lunafreya, and her commentary, makes that somewhat  _difficult_.

"I am glad I had my turn first," she says breathlessly, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes as he finally finds his place, an inch or two inside her. "Your frame is… more than a little intimidating, from down here. And I don't think I can spread my legs much farther apart."

Ravus blushes to his ears. "You're interfering with my focus," he tells her, pulling the blankets over them with his magitek arm. They are too warm, but this feels more secure. And as he starts moving, the artificial wind brushes past his body, damp from sweat, and cools him further down. It is a good distraction from the wild euphoria of taking charge.

And  _oh_ , that euphoria is like nothing Ravus has ever felt. It feels better than he expected to keep control of the pace, though he has to make a conscious effort not to run away with it for Lunafreya's sake. Push and pull, ebb and flow, steady as he goes, and he could get used to this. This time, it is her own hand that ensures she gets the most out of the pleasure he offers, and her eyes flutter shut as she soaks it all in. She finally knows that she is safe with him.

And sometimes, when Ravus finds himself too far on the edge, he forces himself to stop and kiss Lunafreya and fondle her breasts and think of—think of Noctis, and how she didn't choose him in the end—but ah; such a comparison brings him too much joy.  _Here_  is the point of no return he sensed what seems like so long ago, farther down this road than he ever could have imagined.

"Are…" Ravus swallows, breathing hard. "Are you close?"

Lunafreya lifts a hand to brush his hair out of his face. "I'll be closer after you indulge yourself," she says softly. "Give in, and let go." Ravus looks into her shining eyes for a long while, then bows his head. She is serious, and he'll make it up to her afterwards. For now, all that matters is release.

And, however close he may be, he is still farther than he imagined—jolting through a series of halting thrusts, breath hitching in the back of his throat, unable and unwilling to stop for anything, until the end shudders through him at last. He finds he has forgotten his own name until she whispers it, and hers is a prayer on his tongue, low in his throat, coming from a place deep inside him— _Lunafreya_ —half swallowed, almost choked upon, a coughing cry of deadly ecstasy.

It takes more than a few seconds for his vision to clear, but he comes back to himself as Lunafreya twitches beneath him. "Almost," she pants, lifting her hips to grind against Ravus's automatically, and he winces at his oversensitivity. "Almost. Just a little more…!"

Pulling out, Ravus throws back the covers again and lies to her side. His human fingers ache from gripping the sheets, but his prosthetic is numb as always, and perhaps a little less clumsy. Carefully, he arranges two of those fingers inside Lunafreya and tries to replicate the rhythm he established with his human hand, keeping his other fingers occupied with one of her nipples.

It works. Lunafreya's panting becomes moaning, and her moaning becomes a staggered cry, and finally her cry becomes a wordless warbling call—and Ravus kisses her, more sloppily this time, to keep her from making too much noise—feels her slackened mouth against his, an indelicate tangle of tongues, and the vibration of her throat in a muffled whimper—

He pulls away once she quiets down, and then there is silence, but for their breathing as it evens. Ravus withdraws his fingers, wiping them on his sheets, and then turns onto his side to look at her. She does the same, eyes filled with wonder, and traces his frown lines as if noticing them for the first time.

Gods, she is beautiful. Ravus finds that, for all his initial reluctance to take her for his own, he never wants anyone else to see her like this.

"Stay," he murmurs, resting his human hand on her waist. "Just until the dawn."

Lunafreya nods and closes her eyes, her voice barely above a breath. "I love you too much to leave now."

Ravus has never heard anything so sweet, but he cannot respond. Still, he knows she understands his caress, from the sleepy smile tugging at her lips. And he has time to find the right words, he thinks, his own eyes slipping shut half against his will. Oh, yes. Once they survive tomorrow, he is sure they'll have all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Yeah, I'm gonna go shower off the sin now. Back in ten years.
> 
> Also, if you're the type who enjoys playlists, I wrote a significant part of this chapter to "Casual Affair" and the instrumental version of "Far Too Young to Die" by Panic! at the Disco, alternating with "Fistful of Silence" and "Between Two Points" by The Glitch Mob. All of which are good for smut.


End file.
